


A Good Start

by Chibifukurou



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Character, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, non verbal character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/pseuds/Chibifukurou
Summary: Damian Wayne is on the run from his Grandfather. He doesn't want to be a weapon or his grandfather's vessel. He's not sure what he wants to be.But with his Father's family he might be able to find out.





	A Good Start

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is late. Between bad health and hurricanes I'm behind on pretty much everything.

The sound of Robin and Nightwing's grapples fades out. Traffic noises float up from the streets far below. Cement from the rooftop digs into his side and cheek.

Grandfather's foot soldiers are strewn around him. They were knocked out or cut when they got between Father and Grandfather. Robin was Damian's target. Evenly matched, until Nightwing swung in and got between them. 

He'd stabbed Nightwing and left Robin with a few bruises. Then they'd wrapped him in wire and left him on the roof. He'd wiggled like a beached fish, until they were convinced he would not get up again.

Foolish. He waits two twenty counts after he can't hear them anymore before rolling to his stomach. Razor wire bites into fingers when he digs it from the seam of his belt. A few wraps of the razor around the wire holding him still. Then he yanks it back and forth. 

He can't keep a time count while he works. Too much concentration. Instead, he stops every fifteenth saw motions to breathe and listen. The traffic roars and the foot soldier's remain silent. 

The wire snaps. The razor digs into his fingers, drawing blood. He hisses out a breath. The dampness of it caught by his mask and gathers on his nose and chin. He wants to yank it off. Not yet. 

Rolling, he frees himself from the stranglehold of wire. Freezing again, he listens. Still no sign of movement from the foot soldiers? How many twenty counts have passed?

Push down the urge to rock. Not the time. Get out. Get away. His teeth dig into the balls of his fingers. Leather gloves blunt the proper pain. Not enough to clear his head. Except where he hits the nicks from the razor wire. Sharp pain. Lighting down his spine.

Breath... count... focus

Twenty count. Forty count. Sixty count.... Two hundred count. The tight band eases from his chest. 

Time to go. Before Grandfather returns. He has to think Father took him away. And Father will think Damian left with Grandfather and he will be free. 

Gather up the wire they'd wrapped him in. And the blood-stained razor wire. Drop them both into the weapon bag. One last check, closed eyes, relaxed mouths, even breathing. None of the soldiers are awake to see him. 

The edge of the roof. Cars like play toys and streetlights like fireflies far below. A twist and he is falling. Fingers catch on the window edges. Then drop again. Toes this time. Fall and swing. Fall swing. 

Forty windows down and he can rest on a large stone bird creature. The cars look bigger. The noise louder. There are no flashes of capes or yelling from the rooftops around. 

Wherever Father lured Grandfather, it is far away. Damian has no love for Father or his brothers. All of whom Mother and Grandfather chose over him. 

Still, he is grateful. Like he is when Grandfather's soldiers do what they are supposed to when they work a mission together. 

Across from him, there is a tall parking tower. He uses a grapple to snag onto the metal railing. The wind rushes around him and the cat beast falls away. He hits feet first and climbs over the low brick and metal wall that keeps people from driving off the edge.

There are bright flashing signs for an elevator on the far wall. It takes three twenty counts to come when summoned. Then he is in. The lights flicker and the doors creak as they shut. A musty smell fills the tiny space. 

There are only dangling wires in a corner to indicate where a camera had been. Good. He slips the mask off and pulls away the hood and short cloak. Grandfather had picked this outfit because it was something that Nightwing had used when infiltrating a villainous organisation. 

Nightwing has terrible taste. The short cape can not keep off the cold and damp or be lined with Kevlar to provide an adequate shield. The fabric is tight and binds around the joints. The mask presses horribly on the nose and ruins line of sight. 

He presses the stop button and strips it all way. Shoulders ease as he grabs his clothes from the bottom of the weapon pack, originally tucked under the short cloak. The only use for the hated thing. His favourite scarf smells like home and blunts noise as he wraps it around his ears and over his nose and mouth. 

Jumping, he pries the access door open and shoves the remains of the Red X costume up where it would not be found for.

The elevator creaks back to life, lowering to the first floor. Traffic noise is much worse here. Cars are not playthings, but great beasts belching fowl smelling fumes and screaming out horn honks. Hands pressed to ears, along with his scarf is enough to let him stagger out into the wall of gas fumes and screaming noise.

Breath... count... keep moving. 

Father's home is loud and smelly. Everyone shouts and screams and throws things at each other. Damian has visited markets like this. But they are smaller and during the day. 

Having people and dogs jumping out at him at all turns is unsettling. He counts and counts and counts. But the counting does not calm him and he can't take his hands from his ears to chew on his fingers. 

Breath comes faster. If he keeps moving, he will go blank and hollow or have to scream until all the bad things piling over and over trickle back out. Turning, the building he ran from is only a shadow on the horizon. 

Keep running until Grandfather can't find him. Or rest until the bad things are not so sharp and biting. Head down he counts his steps and the cracks in the pavement. Just a little further. 

Dark alley. Scent not as bad as others he's passed. The last turns have blocked the building from sight. 

In and in until he can squeeze through the gap between a large, green metal box and rough brick wall. Small space, full of boxes. Work of minutes to tuck himself into the corner of the box and pull the boxes around and over until he is gone. 

Close and dark. Fingers inch from ears. Muffled noise still hurts and makes him tense. Smell is bad but better. Not the sharp pain, noise of shouting. Still the cold creeps from the metal and brick into his bones. 

Better to run later, but how long until Grandfather decided he was ready to become a vessel? Too small now? But when would he next get away from the League? When roaring fear leaves him, he will find a coat. A thick hat with his scarf and the noise will not be so bad. 

High pitched, quiet noise? He Move into a crouch. Need to run? He shift the boxes and looks around. The kitten is a tiny thing. Black fur and big green eyes. No threat. 

The tiny noise again. A meow. 

He mimics. And the cat meows back. He reaches out of the safe space and pulls it in. Little pinprick pain against fingers. So warm. He pulls it against his chest and it stops biting. 

Meow. Tongue rough and wet against fingertips. Grandfather can't take this one as a weakness. Rubs nose against soft fur. Soft and warm and meows and the bad things aren't so bad. 

Can't stay here. Too cold. If he stays still, kitten might freeze. He might freeze, but that doesn't matter against going out into the bad. Kitten matters

Pushing upright, he edges back onto the sidewalk. Can't put hands over his ears, while he holds the kitten.

The noise crests, but he has something to do. It is enough to push the bad things down, away. 

#

Foolish muggers try to take his bag. Four of them. Barely as useful as Damian when he was five. He is eight. A few kicks and they are on the ground moaning. He doesn't have to put the kitten down. Except, when he strips the smallest one of their jacket. And another of their hat. All have money he can take to get more warm things and kitten food. Weapons are subpar and left with their bodies. 

Grandfather would want him to kill them. It would draw attention. Let them tell someone a child beat them. Even Grandfather's soldiers didn't like to admit such things. 

With coat and hat and scarf the cold doesn't add to the bad. Kitten tucked between shirt and coat where it will be warm and safe. Now a safe place to rest. 

Further from the building things get quieter. The bright glass windows pressed against the sidewalk change to stone steps and small covered windows. 

Walking, he watches the buildings until he finds one with the door held closed with a chain. A few of the windows in the upper part hold broken glass. He edges around the side, to where metal porches and a ladder hang from the side of the building. The metal is dark with rust and fragile. Climbing the bricks is safer. 

The roughness presses pain into the cuts on his fingers. But three stories up, a window is half empty of glass. Snaking an arm through, he unlocks it and pushes it up. 

The carpet inside is damp and squishy with mold. Smell of rancid water floats up with every step. Finger's run over the bubbled walls until he finds the door. On the other side of the door, the floor is not so squishy and the smell of dirty water fades.

Leaving that apartment he goes out into the hall. He finds an apartment near the ground level. The windows are whole and have kept the water and cold out. He can run from here without risking a long fall.

Kitten squirms and meows until he lets it out. It explores the room he'd closed them into. There is a kitchen on one side and a ragged couch and table on the other.

The couch is hard and digs into him. The coat is big and holds the heat in. The kitten meows and scratches as it explores. Most of the bad is gone. Twenty count. Forty count. Eighty count. And he lulls himself to sleep. 

#

Sunlight comes through the window, dirty and yellow. The noises outside are louder, but thick walls keep it from being bad, bad, bad. Kitten curls on top of his weapon bag. 

In the light, the couch is even more worn. Faded brown and yellow crisscross fabric is torn in places. Stuffing and springs poke out. He has slept many places worse. Grandfather had started training before he could remember. A week assigned to a cliff-face learning to climb and sleep on tiny lips of rock. A single mistake meaning death.

Stomach pinches in a way that means hunger. Kitten will need food too. And ration bars from the weapon pouch should be kept for an emergency. The water in the apartment chugs out brown and sharp smelling. 

He uses one of the other apartments to use the toilet. Doesn't want that smell in the place. Kitten had gone in the corner of the room where they'd slept. But Kitten didn't know better.

He can clean up when he has supplies. 

Kitten meows to come with him. But it is not good to have kittens when doing reconnaissance. Pats its head and goes to the on the ground floor, furthest from the street. Would be safer to climb from the top, but he can't bring in supplies that way. 

The window lock is easy to disable. You can't tell from the outside what he's done. It will have to do. 

Frost crunches sharp under his boots. People walk past the alley in ones and twos, but nothing like the crushing push of last night. Waiting until there are no people passing, he ducks out and joins the shuffle. 

He heads back to the shop fronts from last night. There will be somewhere to buy food. That is how markets work. The press of people gets closer near the stores. They don't shout and yell like before. 

Instead, they all stare ahead and do not look at anyone around them. In his hat and too big coat he feels invisible. Like when he hides in the league hideouts. 

A comfortable feeling. 

Squeal of tires from the street and everyone ducks to the pavement as one. Damian remains standing. Watching. A brightly purple and green truck spins past. The Joker, one of Father's enemies stands on the back of the couch, a rocket launcher in hand. 

The boom shriek of it drives Damian to his knees. The Batmobile passes three twenty counts later. The civilians stand, brush off, and give each other tight lipped smiles before going back to ignoring each other. 

He will have to be more careful. Father does not go out only at night as rumour led him to believe. 

#

He is able to buy a gallon of water, cat food and litter, and a few boxes of protein bars at the store before heading back to the abandoned building. Kitten watches as he goes through his training katas and then they share dinner. 

Damian has seen no other signs of Father, but it is best to stay out of sight when he could help it. He needed a way out of Gotham that would not draw attention to himself. But he knew very little about travelling as a civilian. 

And even less about how to find out about travelling as a civilian. The league did not leave things up to chance. Every mission he had worked among civilians had included an extraction point and a backup plan. 

Leaving his hiding spot and Kitten to do reconnaissance is hard. There are countless places to go to find the answers he needs and no way to know which are right or wrong.

He lies on the lumpy couch and works through plans. The kaleidoscope of what ifs is staggering. Is this how Grandfather and Mother feel when they plan? They called Damian rigid and uncreative. 

It was understandable they thought he was if this was the way they saw the world. So many unknowns. Five twenty counts and he forces himself off the couch to clean up Kitten's mess and put out litter. 

Straight forward tasks with known outcomes. They pushed the spiral of thoughts and tangled possibilities down into the part of his mind he didn't explore. 

Kitten meows to itself as it ait. Happy mrrps and chirps. Damian's chest feels warm and soft. 

They sleep the night through cuddled together on the couch.

Training takes over when he can't make a decision. Unknowns are unacceptable. The first step to any new mission is knowing the area. He counts steps and watches from corners. A map builds itself in his brain.

Here is the store with Kitten's food. There is the area where the stupid muggers work. This is the library, and that is the school. He does not explore all the way to the building where Grandfather left him. The quieter streets and the edge of the shops is enough.

No more purple trucks or Batmobile's come through the neighbourhood during the day. Nights are spent in the apartment building. Kitten a warm purring bundle under his chin. It is a simple pattern. 

It is the most free he has ever been. He eats things that don't hurt and sleeps when he is tired. If he needs to rest in an alley until the badness of the sensory information becomes manageable nobody screams or makes things worse just to make him stronger. 

It is too perfect to last. 

#

He comes home from one of his exploration trips. Todd is in his apartment. Kitten is in his arms, kneading his leather jacket. With its rumbly purr. 

Todd has his red mask off. It sits on the table that Damian never uses because it wobbles horribly. The tack, tack, tack, sound it makes is rage inducing. 

"You have a name kid?" Todd asks. 

Damian doesn't answer.

"Bats got a call from Raz. Apparently, somebody set him up to think that we had taken you?" Todd's voice is leading. Like he expects Damian to respond Perhaps mother didn't tell him. 

Perhaps he is just cruel. His palms up he motions for Todd to hand Kitten to him. 

He does. 

Warm, soft, good. Todd didn't harm it or use it as leverage. Not cruel. Is ignorance better?

"Okay so you aren't looking surprised that Raz thought we had you and you're obviously set up for a couple weeks of living here." Todd looks around the room dramatically. 

Damian's supplies have been shifted a half inch over. The play acting is unnecessary. He tsks his annoyance. 

"So I'm guessing you know Bat's is your Dad?" 

Finally a useful question. Not trying to lead a conversation by repeating facts. A nod. 

"Okay so you know he's your dad. And you want away from Raz. So instead of going to Bruce to convince him to give you protection you come squat here." His upper lip curls back as he looks around the room. 

Is Damian supposed to know what that means? Another nod. 

"You could actually just tell me what the hell is going through that pint-sized head of yours?" Todd's tone is louder. 

Anger? Probably. Damian does not talk and people get angry. This is how things work. He turns away with Kitten and goes to get her food out. It is in a crate. If not she chews through the bag when he isn't home. 

"And now you’re fucking ignoring me!" Todd shouts.

A flinch escapes before Damian can fight it down. 

"Jesus, I'm sorry kid."

Apologies are traps. A hand in his peripheral vision. The fingertips brush his shoulder. He attacks. 

Todd jumps back, hands up in surrender. Another trap. He should pursue. This is his Father's son. The one mother chose over him. 

Todd hooks a hand over the hood on the table and keeps backing up. is back hits wall and he pivots. He jumps through the partially open window. 

The sidewalk is empty when Damian gets to the window. A yank. A bang. and it’s closed. The lock is pointless. It makes his shoulders relax. 

Will Todd come back? Should he run?

Too many possibilities. The feel of Todd's fingertips on shoulder. A scream tears from his throat. He slams into the wall. Head bangs against plaster. Teeth tear at fingers. 

The rage passes. Bruises on hands and cuts open on fingers. 

Too much. Kitten is under couch when he looks for it. Big eyes reproachful. Fingers waggle in apology until she comes out and he can cuddle. 

Should move. Should run. Too tired. Expressed rage leaves a hollow in his chest. Pit madness mother called it. A weakness. A reason to choose Todd who had conquered the madness. 

Damian couldn't conquer it.

The couch is still lumpy. Kitten curls into him and jacket keeps off the cold. He does not need a twenty count to sleep. Exhaustion dragges at limbs. Sinking into his brain. 

Then darkness.

#

It is late when he wakes. Bright sunlight floods the windows. He expects Todd to be back. The apartment is empty except for him and Kitten. It won't last. 

He should leave. Kitten and the crate of supplies won't take long to move. Muscles are shaky from rage. It is a familiar ache. He can work through it. 

Where to go? There have been a few abandoned buildings in his exploration range. Todd had found him here. He would likely know where those buildings were. 

It gets colder every day. Did he risk wandering the city? Would it do any good? Todd would tell father where he was. Father was known for his ability to track anything in Gotham. 

Having him search Gotham meant Grandfather would think he'd escaped. Teeth dig into the balls of his fingers as he rocks. Twenty Count. Forty count...Three hundred count. He's been free for only a few weeks. It hasn't been long enough. 

Kitten comes with him when he leaves to buy more supplies and look at the busier areas of Gotham. The supplies stay in the apartment. He doesn't know enough to run yet.

He is braced for Todd when he comes back home. But the apartment is empty and nothing has been moved. He gets half an hour to rest before there is a knock on the apartment door. 

He'd come in the back entrance. Hopefully, drawing less attention. If Damian stays inside will Todd stay in the hall?

"Damian, open up!" Todd's voice is muffled through the door. He isn't shouting.

Damian waits. 

Another knock. Another call. And then the soft scrape of lock picks. An annoyed huff of breath. He gets off the couch and goes to open the door. 

Todd is there. So is Father's first son. Grayson. 

"I'm not great with people, kid. So I brought back up." 

"Nice to meet you, Damian!" Grayson has a large smile on his face. His micro expressions match the pattern for joy and pleasure. 

Damian scoots away. Grabs kitten and gets the table between him and them. Todd had been easy. He had come. They had fought. He had left. Grayson does not look like he will leave so easily. 

He shoots a dark look at Todd. Was it not enough that Todd had Mother's love? Did he have to bring strangers here?

Grayson looks back and forth between them. His face looks less like joy and more like confusion. He comes into the apartment anyway. "You can call me Dick. Jay-bird said you might need some help getting moved to the manor?"

Todd looks angry now too. Had Dick said something he wasn't supposed to?

"Look, Kid. It's not safe for you to stay here. I can get you into a better safe house." Todd said. He moved slowly. Deliberately. When they were both inside the room, he closed and locked the door behind them. 

Damian edges closer to the window. 

"The Manor would be safer." Dick tells Todd.

"The manor is a lot and he can go where he wants." It is a growl, not a shout. It still puts Damian on edge. 

There are two of them. Both bigger and trained to be a match for him. He doesn't want them here. 

They are glaring at each other. Could he slip out? A shift of his weight has both of their attentions back on him. Grayson is smiling again. Damian doesn't trust it. "Bruce would really like to meet you. He didn't even know you existed."

He is a failure. Why would anyone tell Father about him?

"Just because Bruce wants to meet you doesn't mean you have to go." Todd adds. 

They are giving him options. Neither of them freedom. Rage tickles in his chest. The feeling of being cornered. 

"Bruce is working on contacting your Mom. Between the two of them, I'm sure they can find a way to keep you away from Raz." Dick appears to think that will be convincing. 

The rage comes out in a bark of laughter. Mother helping him against Grandfather? They are even more foolish than he had expected. 

Dick's face is making the confused expression again. Todd's eyes read rage. The familiar kind that chews through your skin. 

"Okay, so we're missing something. You know I'm friends with your, mom?" 

Nod.

"And you don't think she's going to want to know you are here with me or Bruce?"

Another nod. 

"Dick, why don't you call Bruce and see if he can hold off on contacting Talia?" 

It is obvious why Mother liked him better than Damian. New information is integrated immediately. Plans change. Damian would want to finish the original plan despite the new information. 

"But he needs the information she has." Dick says. 

"I don't give a fuck what Bruce needs right now. We're missing something and I am not dragging a kid into it until I know what we're missing." 

Dick doesn't seem convinced. Todd turns his back on him. Focussing on Damian. "Okay so you don't want to talk?"

Nod.

"You ever heard of twenty questions?" 

No. But the premise seems obvious. He would ask Damian questions until he got the information he wanted. Nod. 

"Okay, Good." Todd rubs his hands against his pants. The pattern matches nervous. He sits down on one end of the couch. "You want to come over here where I can see you?"

No. But it is important to have direct line of sight in an interrogation. Damian goes. Not sitting on the couch. The wall across from the couch is close enough. Nobody can sneak up on him there. 

"Were you around when your Mom put me in the pit and helped train me?"

Nod.

"Do you know why she didn't tell me you were alive?"

Nod.

"Is she likely to give you back to Raz if she finds out your are here?"

Shrug. Unknown. She does not consider him a person. He is Grandfather’s vessel. But would she want Grandfather to have a new vessel? She and Grandfather have been at odds since she had brought Todd back. 

Dick perchs on the back of the couch. His feet rest on the cushion. Damian glares. Todd followes the look. Rolling his eyes he yanks Dick down to sit beside him. "No feet on the furniture, idiot."

Dick gives him a sad look. Like Kitten gives Damian when she is hungry. He is a strange person. Damian could see why Grandfather was not interested in him. 

"Is there a reason you don't want to come back to the manor?" Dick asks.

Did Damian have to answer if Todd didn't ask the question? He looks at Todd. No other questions from him. He is supposed to answer Dick. He nods. 

When Dick opens his mouth to ask another question, Todd interrupts. "Would coming with me be better than going to the manor?"

Shrug. Too many variables. 

"Okay. So we can't leave you here and coming with either of us doesn't sound like a great idea to you. This is going to take some work."

Todd is listening to him. Even though he isn't speaking. It is strange. Nobody listens to him. He is flawed, broken. His inability to talk made Mother think of him as inhuman. And Grandfather view him as the perfect vessel. Because he was not a true person. 

"Dick isn't wrong about the manor being the safest place for you, if you don't have a preference between there and one of my safe houses."

Father will see what he is and send him back. But he'll see that no matter where Damian went. He knows not to comfort himself when others were watching. His fingers make their way to his mouth, anyway. 

Too much data and no way out. 

"Okay…I think that's enough for today." Todd stands. "Come on, Dick."

"But!" Dick's mouth hangs open. "I didn't say anything yet."

"We'll keep an eye on the place overnight and make sure Raz didn't follow us. Take the evening and think things through. Okay, kid."

He doesn't wait for Damian to answer. Wrapping an arm around Dick's neck he tows the other man out. The sound of their clomping boots anf bickering fades away. It is just him and Kitten. 

No way to run with them watching. But they hadn't bound him and dragged him out like the weapon he was. A lot to think about. Food for him and kitten. Then planning. 

#

Todd comes alone the next day. He doesn’t wait for Damian to go out and come back this time. The morning light has barely come through the window. Then a Knock. 

Damian shrugs on his coat and hat. Jason is dressed as a civilian. Clothes not much different. No body armour or helmet. 

“Yeah. I figure it’s safer if we travel as civilians during the day. You don’t have a costume and the Red Hood kidnapping kids sends the wrong message.” 

The league didn’t care about kidnapping civilians. 

“You decided where you want to go? Or want a little more time to think?”

Shrug. He‘d thought all night. More than he‘d slept. He didn’t know what the right answer was.

“So safehouse with me?” 

It was tempting. Todd didn’t mind his silence. Grandfather would not hesitate to kill Todd to take him back. Father’s manor was more secure. He shook his head. 

“Manor it is. Sorry I don’t have better options for you.”

Shrug. It isn’t Todd’s fault. 

Todd gets the box of supplies. Damian has Kitten. 

There is a motorcycle waiting in the alley by the back window. Todd ties the box into place. He pulls on a motorcycle helmet. Another held out for Damian. 

The motorcycle roars to life beneath them. Loud. Loud. Loud. And the rumble feels like it was shaking all his bones apart. Run…scream. He bites down on the urge. No. He said he would go to the manor. 

A blurry stream of people and cars fly past. Cold and biting wind against his face. Stay still. Don’t react. Count…the numbers kept shaking loose with the rattling of the bike. Please stop. 

He’s shut down to the weapon he is supposed to be. The manor looms overhead. Tall spires like mountain peaks rise from the top. 

Todd tugs at his arms. He lets go. Jason walks into the manor. He follows. No thought, no ability to run. Just obediance. There is a skinny, elderly man standing inside the manor door. His eyes crickle as he loos at Todd. His mouth is turned up as he looks down at Damian. “Hello, young sir. Master Jason tells me you take after your father.

The surprise of that cracks throught the distance cloudy shell of his obedience. Like father? In what way?

“Young Master Bruce sepent a number of years when he was your age, not speaking.”

Mother never mentioned that. She and grandfather had always believed that he’d come out wrong because of the damage to Mother’s DNA from her time in the pit. 

Alfred leans down until he is closer to Damian’s height. “You will have to show me how you communicate. But I’m sure we will manage just fine.”

Damian can’t break his shell. Not even nod. Alfred groans as he straightenes. He turns and goes deeper into the manor. Damian follows. Run Run Run. Plays in the back of his head. It doesn’t feel important. He keeps a tight grasp on Kitten under his jacket. 

Nothing is important. Alfred turns and turns until they reach a dark room. Couches face each other in the center of the room with a roaring fire between. Father sits on the couch facing the door. Damian scans his expression. It is unreadable. Damian focuses his eyes on the bridge of his nose. 

“Take a seat, Master Damian.” Alfred says. 

Damian perches on the sofa across from Father. The fire crackles. Todd, Drake, and Dick fall through the door behind father. Todd has Dick in a headlock. Drake watches with a smirk. They are loud and move jerkily. 

The stillness of keeping all the feelings locked up cracks. Off the couch, under the side table near the fire. Can only see father’s profile around the couch. The other three are still loud. 

“Enough.” The single word is sharp. There is silence except for the fire. Now he will come. Damian will be dragged out and punished. Twenty count. Forty Count. Eighty count. He reaches two hundred and Father has not grabbed him. 

A peak around the couch. Father is still sitting on the couch. His son’s spread around him. Todd stiff on the corner near Damian’s table. Dick spread across the back. Todd pressed to Father’s far side. 

Father is watching him. His face still and unmoving. “Would you like to stay there?” 

Stay. Be safe. No yelling or grabbing. Nod.

“We don’t know much about how you came to be born. The blood test we did on the costume you left behind confirms you ar my son,” He pauses. 

When Damian doesn’t make any moves he continues. 

“Jason has asked that I not contact Talia for now. Is that what you want?” 

Nod. Immediate. 

“There will be rules if you stay here.” 

This is expected. Kitten meows and starts to wiggle. It is warm with his jacket and the fire. He unzips the jacket. She jumps out and starts to snif the carpet. 

When he looks back at Father his expresssion does not look as stiff. “I can’t promise you will be happy here. But as long as I am alive Ras won’t take you.”

A kindness. A lie? Damian cannot be sure. 

Kitten starts to sniff Father’s shoe. He picks her up. She purrs as he rubs her ears and chin. Grandfather would have kicked her. 

He does not know if he can trust Father to keep him once he realizes what he is. But for now. This is a Good start. 

He climbs out from under the table. Sits on the edge of the couch. And waits to hear Father’s rules. He will do his best. He will get to stay. And Grandfather will not take him as a vessel. 

These may be lies, but they may also be the truth. 

Fin


End file.
